


the nanny trap

by sonatine



Category: The Parent Trap (1998)
Genre: F/F, Period-Typical Homophobia, also shoutout to the real hero of that mess (Chessy No Last Name Mentioned), mention of homophobic violence, nick can't handle, what if...... instead of an age gap meredith was with chessy like she belongs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-09
Updated: 2020-03-09
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:42:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23075698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sonatine/pseuds/sonatine
Summary: “Maybe I should call you a cab,” Chessy offers. This is only the third time she’s met her boss’ new girlfriend, technically, and she’s pretty sure Meredith doesn’t even remember her.Meredith yanks the phone cord out of the wall. “No way. I’m staying here for a long weekend with my boyfriend. And he is asleep at nine-thirty.”
Relationships: Meredith Blake/Chessy
Comments: 9
Kudos: 61





	the nanny trap

Her boss is asleep, because it’s 10pm and the man is forty with a preteen daughter. Meredith Blake, on the other hand, is barely out of undergrad and rummaging through the fridge. “Is this the sweetest thing in the house?” she asks, pulling an old bottle of margarita mix from the graveyard of sauces. Chessy truly fears it was purchased by Nick Parker’s ex-wife over a decade ago, but Meredith has already poured half of it down her throat. 

“Maybe I should call you a cab,” Chessy offers. This is only the third time she’s met her boss’ new girlfriend, technically, and she’s pretty sure Meredith doesn’t even remember her. 

Meredith yanks the phone cord out of the wall. “No way. I’m staying here for a long weekend with my _boyfriend_. And he is asleep at _nine-thirty_.” 

“Give the man a break. He’s a dad.”

“Camp counselors are taking care of his kid.” Meredith tilts the rest of the margarita mix into a coffee mug and places it solemnly into Chessy’s hand. “He spent the day at a power lunch and then by the pool.” 

Chessy moves to pour the mug down the sink. “Well, goodnight.”

Meredith slaps a hand over the top. She grins down at Chessy. Her teeth are Hollywood bleach white. They glow. 

“We’re partying.”

#

Partying turns out to be _Sixteen Candles_ on VHS, bathrobes, and face masks. Chessy sinks further into the $12,000 leather couch and tries to suck in her stomach. Meredith looks effortlessly chic in Nick Parker’s ratty flannel robe. “Hope Nick’s kid doesn’t mind us watching her tape.” 

“Hallie. And this is his tape.”

Meredith snorts. 

They burn through two more John Hughes classics and eight bags of old Halloween candy. By 4am Chessy is puking in the downstairs toilet and Meredith is perched on the tub, filing her nails. She does not hold back Chessy’s hair. But she also doesn’t leave the bathroom. She instead gossips incessantly about her boss and colleagues until Chessy’s head is spinning with Megans and Kyles and expense accounts named Fifi.

“No, Fifi is Kyle H.’s girlfriend. He moved his expense account over to her name as a gesture of goodwill.”

“Because she wouldn’t sign a prenup?” Chessy croaks.

Meredith barks out a laugh. A real one, not that tinkling one she always put on around Nick Parker. She sounds like an old man. It humanizes her, somehow. Chessy sits back and wipes her mouth. 

In a fluid motion, Meredith rises to her feet and runs a washcloth under the sink. She tosses it to Chessy. “You look like hell.”

Sourly, Chessy scrubs her face. She drops the cloth in the tub. Let Future Chessy deal with it. She is going to sleep in as long as she wants, because Hallie isn’t here to slam open her door at the crack of dawn demanding explanations for all the planets’ names. 

Meredith squats beside her. Her legs don’t even tremble. All that yoga by the water, probably. She produces a tube of lipstick from somewhere on her person and is applying it to Chessy’s mouth. 

Chessy’s lips part indignantly. Meredith slaps her knee. “Be still. You have to look decent.”

Across the compound, Nick Parker’s awful siren alarm goes off. Meredith says, “Share and share alike,” and brushes her lips across Chessy’s. Brusquely, chastely. She walks out of the bathroom with perfectly blotted lipstick.

Chessy can hear Nick Parker’s voice booming from the staircase, _5am chore time! No more snore time!_ and then, _Wow, honey, you’re already awake? You look amazing_.

She crawls out of the bathroom, cloth clutched in her hand for verisimilitude.

#

Chessy and Hallie have gone back to school shopping, made chilli tacos, and dropped Hallie off at the barn for some quality father-daughter bonding time. This is useful, because Chessy needs to dial up onto the internet in peace and research preteen bullying. That kid is way too quiet and secretive all of a sudden. If any of those spoiled east coast brats bullied her Hallie into miserable passivity, Chessy is going to commit arson by mail. She boots up AOL and goes to make tea while the computer is screeching. 

The kettle whistles. The sliding glass door also whistles, as Meredith bangs inside. She’s still got on her sunglasses, a power skirt suit, and clearly left her car running because it’s pumping out a club hit that’s reverberating its way into Chessy’s skull.

Meredith takes one look at the empty house and tosses her handbag onto the counter. “Where’s Gomez and Wednesday?”

Chessy pours Earl Grey into the former Mrs. Parker’s rose willow teacups. Nick Parker has forgotten who the originally belonged to, or they would have been thrown off the third-floor balcony years ago. “They’re bonding. You’re early.”

“I’m good at my job. Overtime is for slackers.” Meredith unbuttons the vest part of her ensemble and slings it over the chair. “Let’s get happy hour.”

Chessy squeezes lemon into her tea. “I’m working.”

“Your boss isn’t here. I assume you cleaned the whole house yesterday, right? Did laundry this morning? Sheets don’t get changed till Friday.”

Chessy is thrown off guard. She looks at Meredith warily. “Did you read my dayplanner?”

“Maybe.” Grin. Gum popping. It’s cinnamon. “I also checked the freezer. There’s five gallons of leftover chili. Come on! It’s ten minutes to the main road. And 2-for-1 cocktails at the, I hate to admit it, cute little trattoria on the corner. It’s Grey Goose and gossip time.”

Chessy turns and walks into the study. 

Meredith, publicist to her bones, follows doggedly, carrying the teapot and an extra cup. She folds herself into a metal chair, since Chessy is in the ergonomic throne, and tucks her bare feet beneath her. As if she’s curling up in a cozy armchair in an English cottage, instead of the taupe-carpeted study of a California McMansion. 

Peering over Chessy’s shoulder, she reads, “ _Teenage bullying and suicide?_ Overdramatic much? Chess, no. That little twerp is not being bullied. She’s just got horny for the first time and is panicking about it.” 

Chessy squawks.

“Or she wants to buy a bra and is embarrassed to tell her dad. Or some bitch at camp turned her friend against her, and she’s experiencing the brave new world of just how mean girls can be. Relax. We can fix this. It’s a non-problem. Okay.” Meredith sits up, hands folded like she’s giving a boardroom presentation. “Walk me through your concerns.” 

She seems to take it for granted that Chessy wants her there. Grudgingly, Chessy gives her the bare bones while sneakily reading the Comic Sans text on the screen. She has to put on her glasses. 

“Girl. Quiet and secretive? It’s not suicidal. It’s social panic. She’s realized those horse clothes Nicky bought her are horrific, and has never been to a Limited Too in her life.” Meredith sits back, satisfied. “I’ll take her shopping this weekend.”

“ _I_ just took her shopping this morning.”

“For spiral notebooks and lunchables? Great job.”

Chessy glares, but maybe Meredith has a point. Chessy dresses like a Berkeley beach bum because that’s what she is, but maybe that’s not the best look for an 11-year-old to emulate. 

Nick Parker flies into the study. Meredith’s car is still running, wasting gas by the second, and blasting Sir Mix-A-Lot. It’s an odd backdrop for his t-shirt sweat stains and frazzled expression. Apparently the bonding time did not end well, and now Hallie is brooding somewhere in the vineyards. Like father, like daughter. 

Meredith sweet talks him down off the ledge ( _You’re not a bad dad, she’s just a teenager)_ and goes off to have some “one on one best girlfriends chat” with Hallie. 

Chessy cheerfully imagines how horrible this will go. She persuades Nick Parker to do laps in the pool to calm himself down, while she watches Jeopardy and knits a caftan. 

#

Chessy is sitting alone at the bar with _The Second Sex_ and a glass of wine, because her friend is late and she wants to scare off men. It’s her day off and she’s successfully persuaded Nick Parker _not_ to buy her a cell phone, so she is unreachable and basking in the Napa sunset. It’s wonderful. 

Someone throws themself over her shoulder. Chessy twists their wrist onto the bar (so she took judo at Berkeley! So she’s a stereotype! So what!) until they grunt in pain. It’s actually more of a breathy moan, and once she sees the platinum hair, she releases her grip. 

“The Nanny! The Nanny out in public without her surrogate family? Jerry! Get another drink for this hot nanny right here. Hot commodity alert. Fellas! You listening? There is a hot. Nanny. Right. Here.”

It must be nice to be a publicist and get trashed at 5pm every day. 

Chessy says, “Why are you never in the Bay area? Where you live?”

Meredith giggles and climbs onto Chessy’s lap. She weighs about five pounds. Chessy feels frumpy in her cargo pants and plaid shirt. “It’s boring there. Kyle and Meghan got back together. No one wants to hang out.”

“Married people are boring,” Chessy agrees, and reaches around Meredith for her book. She flips the page one-handed. 

“Everyone here is boring too,” Meredith whines, craning her neck to preen. She’s in a skintight sequin number that’s throwing light like a disco ball. People are staring. Chessy takes a sip of wine. “It’s all brokers and dotcom guys.”

“You don’t think computers are interesting?”

“The men that build them aren’t. They haven’t had anything interesting to say all night.”

“Bored of people telling you how pretty you are already?” Chessy’s thumb gets stuck. The page won’t turn. 

Meredith tilts her head. “You think I’m pretty?”

“I have eyes,” says Chessy tartly. 

Meredith runs a hand through Chessy’s hair. Her nails scratch against Chessy’s scalp. A shiver chases up Chessy’s spine and her eyes flutter closed involuntarily.

“There.” Meredith pulls away. “You’d just lost some volume. All better.” She tries to tug Chessy onto the floor. “Let’s dance.”

“I’m meeting someone.”

Meredith’s eyes widen. “A man? Who? Tell me everything!” She laces her fingers through Chessy’s. “Never mind. If he’s keeping you waiting, he’s not worth it.”

_Most men aren’t worth it_. Chessy says, “A friend,” and returns to her book and wine. She is _not_ taking off her glasses tonight. 

Meredith pouts. The sun has gone behind the mountains, and the colorful floor lights have come on. A man with gelled hair and an oversized suit sidles up beside her. Chessy hates him. Meredith clearly hates him more, but she pulls him onto the dance floor anyway. 

An hour later, Chessy has finished her book and her friend has called the bar from her car phone to say that she’s got a flat and is stuck in Sonoma waiting for a tow truck. Chessy downs her wine and joins the dance floor. She hip-checks the gelled stockbroker out of the way. Meredith grins, so wide that Chessy can see her pointed incisors. Like a nerd, not a wolf. Meredith throws herself into dancing. Nobody can take their eyes off her. Neither can Chessy, who’s thrown caution to the wind and is tearing it up so hard that her glasses are bouncing on their golden chain. 

The DJ switches things up to a slow jam. Chessy shakes herself out of a haze. It’s midnight, he’s announcing. She steps back. There’s a circle of men in the periphery of Meredith’s orbit: waiting to strike. 

Meredith blithely steps back into Chessy’s space. Like she belongs there. But Meredith thinks she belongs everywhere. 

Snagging two shots in neon test tubes from a roving waiter, Meredith says, “You’re way more fun than you were in college.”

“I was exactly this much fun in college. You just never wanted to hang around me.”

“Well, you were a lesbian. I had a reputation to keep.” Meredith loops an arm around Chessy’s waist in a very un-heterosexual way. 

Chessy pushes away. She isn’t in the mood for games. “Bisexual.”

“Really?” Meredith doesn’t sound upset. Not even particularly interested. She throws back the science drink and plants a sloppy kiss on Chessy’s cheek. Elizabeth Arden fuschia. “Let’s see if we can get the DJ to play not trash.” 

#

Meredith walks out of Nick Parker’s master bedroom the next morning looking delicately haggard. She won’t meet Chessy’s gaze. 

Back to normal. 

#

Meredith comes over the next afternoon and tries to pretend nothing’s changed. She speaks to Chessy in this jocular tone, and then when that has no effect, turns dismissive. Chessy pretends not to know her. She calls her Ms. Blake.

This makes Meredith stop dead in her tracks. She stalks outside, hips swinging, and squeals _Nicky!_ in a way that would get her hired for unsavory films. 

Chessy makes Nick Parker pasta primavera for dinner as revenge. She’s already thrown out all the meat in the fridge. 

There’s a noise like wind chimes on the patio. Chessy chops onions with the Big Scary Knife with more fervor than necessary. If Meredith dragged that man to vintage shops and brought dusty antiques into this house… 

There’s a chiming sound again. Then someone calling her name. She follows it onto the patio, like Pavlov’s ex lover. 

Meredith has got a bright silver bell meant for a dog. She rings it imperiously. “ _Chessy!”_

Nick Parker looks mortified. Not as mortified as Chessy feels. She curls her lip. 

“You rang?”

Meredith tilts her head. She’s in cherry red lipstick that matches her cherry red convertible and a little black dress that belongs at a lounge in the Bay instead of on the Costco patio collection in an uphill ranch. Her blood red nails are poised on the bell, threatening. 

“Gin and tonic. Make Mr. Parker’s a double.”

She pushes back Nick Parker’s hair in a sensuous manner, all while maintaining aggressive eye contact with Chessy. 

The bell is now resting on the table.

Chessy imagines using it on Meredith instead. She imagines saying _Good girl_ to a Meredith sprawled across red sheets that match her lipstick. She imagines pulling off that skintight Posh Spice minidress with her teeth.

Nick Parker says apologetically, “Please, Chess.” 

Chessy goes to the kitchen to splash cold water on her face. 

#

Shit has hit the fan and the whole Scooby gang is at a swanky hotel in San Francisco. Chessy feels, well, not 100% great about the Meredith ambush but she’d be lying if she said she wasn’t looking forward to the penny dropping in a kind of perverse pleasure. She feels bad about Nick Parker getting caught in the crossfire, but that isn't really her business. Her loyalty lies with the preteen redhead(s) that may as well be her own daughter(s). No matter what tiff Elizabeth or Nick or Meredith got into over court, _she_ was the one that raised Hallie Parker. And they all knew it. 

Nick Parker fell into a pool and the dog peed in the lobby, but aside from the nonsense of two middle-aged numskulls who don’t know what they want, Chessy is having an overall decent weekend. The hotel requires non-refundable deposits, so no one feels like they can skip town early. The main players in the family drama stick to their hotel rooms and the bar downstairs, plotting their next moves on romantic chessboard, which leaves Chessy free to relax by the pool with Elizabeth’s charming butler. This might be the gin, but she likes the way he says “undoubtedly.” 

By the time the lifeguard goes off duty, the girls are having a very loud and very giggly sleepover in Chessy’s room and the bar is full of family members ignoring each other and pretending to drink alone, so she amuses herself by exploring the empty hotel. There’s no solitude like the muffled sound of your own sandaled feet on commercial carpeting.

She’s in the conference corridor now. Most of the rooms are cleaned and locked already — 9pm is a little late for attendees — but one door is open a crack. The speaker inside is killing it. The speech is punctuated with continuous laughs from the audience. There’s no crowd like a sober, trapped, Saturday night crowd. The fact that any laughs are happening _at all_ piques whatever’s left of Chessy’s interest. 

It’s Meredith. 

She’s on stage lecturing a bunch of randos. Glass of water in one hand (or is it vodka?), slinging around the microphone cord like a cowboy with the other. She’s giving what appears to be an impromptu lecture on guerilla marketing and early-stage investing. There’s a man in the front row taking _notes_. No one seems to notice that she’s slurring her words slightly, but then, she is barefoot and in a minidress.

Chessy takes a seat in the back. She snaps some candids with her disposable camera for blackmail purposes, but then despite herself starts listening. 

Like, Meredith went to Berkeley like Chessy went to Berkeley, but Chessy had always assumed Meredith was there on a cheerleading scholarship, or as a legacy recruit. Her dad’s name was on a dining hall, for god’s sake. Chessy dropped out her junior year to take care of her sick mom. Meredith became the youngest president of her sorority. Chessy always assumed this meant planning keggers and choosing the WASPiest date for the winter formal, but Meredith is up on that stage now throwing around technical terms and name-dropping executives that are _doing shit right_ and others that are _fucking shit up._ She’s giving cringe-specific examples about how men worth billions are in fact royal fucking morons, and the crowd is nodding along. She's using facts and figures. She’s using _percentages_. 

Nick Parker isn’t a total idiot, and his wine is decent, so Chessy just assumed the thousands he was spending on a blonde PR girlfriend was going mainly to steak dinners and cocktails. But maybe those quarterly reports have something to do with Meredith after all.

Meredith locks eyes with her. Chessy doesn’t know how — she’s in the last row and in sweats — but Meredith gives a sorority shriek and hops off stage. She catwalks down the aisle (to whistles and applause) and drapes herself into Chessy’s lap. 

“That’s all, folks!” she calls. “My ride’s here.” She grabs Chessy’s hand and sashays them to the door. “Sorry, no more questions. Call up Blake Publicity in San Francisco!”

They end up by the pool. It’s quiet at night; only a few swimmers drift in the illuminated water. Chessy leans back on the lounge chair. The ocean crashes in the distance, but she misses the cicada buzz of the woods. Meredith tosses a decorative pebble into the pool. Then another. She’s fishing them out of the palm planter beside them. Her gaze is fixed on the moon’s reflection in the water. 

“Thought you’d be upstairs reminding Nick Parker how good he’s got it.”

“I already reminded him. This is a tactical retreat. He’s in stranded in bed, half-mast —”

“Oh my god, gross. Stop talking. Never talk again.” 

“Honey, it’s a messy business but I get results.” Meredith clicks her tongue and does finger guns like she’s in an infomercial. What a nerd. “I can help you land any man you want.”

“Pass.” But Chessy’s laughing. Meredith’s laughing. “I can’t believe you just jumped on a stage and started talking out of your ass. That man in the blue shirt _tipped_ you. You’re brave.”

Meredith’s laughter cuts off. She turns to look at Chessy. 

“No. You’re the brave one. I saw you kiss a girl on campus. In public. In the middle of the day. Just after that lesbian in the news had been beheaded.” Her chest rises and falls. She says wryly, “My parents would kill me before a homophobe did.” 

“Well.” Chessy’s throat feels tight. “My mom’s dead. I never knew my dad. Guess it’s easier for me.” 

“Sure. Easier.” 

It’s uncomfortable the way Meredith’s looking at her. The way she looks at Nick Parker sometimes: something between devotion and… want. 

#

Chessy lets herself back into the house as quietly as possible. Nick Parker is an embarrassed millionaire, a nouveau-riche that combats his discomfort with having live-in help through casual benevolence. When Hallie was a toddler, he tried to persuade Chessy to let him send her back to college, but she’d already tried the academia thing. She felt past it now. When Hallie started elementary school and there were less diapers and loads of laundry to occupy Chessy’s time, he began to drop hints like _Wouldn’t you like to get a real estate license someday? They make a great living_ or _Isn’t there a hobby you’ve always wanted to take up? Like watercolor painting? Scrapbooking?_

“Sailing,” she’d finally told him, out of sheer distress that he’d enroll her in an accounting class as a Hanukkah present or whatever. Exactly a week later she’d been stepping into a schooner at the marina under the tender tutelage of Captain E. J. Jimenez. 

Two years later, she is a certified sailor and working toward her first mate’s license. Whatever. Maybe when Hallie goes off to college she’ll join the coast guard or something. 

Captain E. J. Jimenez is a stickler for rules and insists on proper attire, even when going out on private tours on (1) eccentric millionaire’s yacht. _It’s about how you present yourself_ , he tells her daily, so like, it’s fine. She just has to sneak in the back door to the ranch and change into normal clothes before Nick Parker can catch her in her nautical whites and cry in pride or something. 

The latch slides open. Silently. Chessy slides into the kitchen. Noiselessly. She steps into the living room, one step, two, only five more until she reaches the bathroom, then freezes. 

Chessy sees Ms. James’ eyes take in her white uniform. This is interesting for many reasons, but she does not think anything of it until Meredith is flouncing out of Nick Parker’s house in Jane Fonda workout gear and a bare flat stomach you could bounce quarters off. What a tool. While Chessy is rolling her eyes, she catches Ms. James making the same expression. The same expression she’s making right now as she crosses her legs up on the couch and says, “You can call me Elizabeth, you know. Or Liz, as Nick prefers.” 

They’re alone in this giant ranch for at least 48 hours. Chessy does not want to presume, but she was right about Meredith (as much as Meredith does not want to admit to herself), and she doesn’t think she’s wrong about Elizabeth, whose eyes have dropped to Chessy’s spaghetti-strap tank no less than three times. 

“How do you feel about wine that’s _not_ Nick Parker’s special reserve?” Chessy asks. 

Elizabeth’s eyes crinkle right up. She says, “Bang on, then,” in that dumb posh accent, and Chessy cannot wait to find out just how far it stretches. 

#

They’re fucking in Nick Parker’s bed. They’re definitely fucking in Chessy’s boss’s bed, and she’s trying to remind herself that a) this is Nick Parker’s _ex-wife_ and they are _no longer married_ and he has _no legal case_ against her in terms of infidelity, given that he and Elizabeth are Not Together, even though he’s clearly still desperately in love with her and b) Elizabeth asked. 

Well, technically, Elizabeth demanded. 

“Show me your room, darling,” she said, but Chessy’s room is her personal private space that no other living person is allowed to witness. She instead took Elizabeth into the master bedroom because in for a penny, in for a pound. They stumbled through the doorway kissing, shedding denim shirts, khaki pants, tank tops, bras, along the hallway like breadcrumbs, and now Elizabeth is stretched across Nick Parker’s plaid sheets, writhing, as Chessy’s fingers pull her apart. 

Chessy strokes her free hand down Elizabeth’s pale stomach. Her mind flashes to an image of Nick Parker and another blonde ensconced in a tent, and she’s annoyed with herself that she misses Elizabeth’s push over the edge. She slides up along Elizabeth’s body to kiss her, then flips them over. 

“My turn.” She pretends that the blonde head between her legs belongs to someone else. 

#

It’s day two of the campout. Elizabeth claims homesickness and bakes shepherd’s pie for them. It’s too stodgy for Chessy’s taste (Meredith may be a bitch, but at least she appreciates an avocado salad), but who is she to deny the woman a comfort meal? Her ex-husband is off fucking a twenty-something in the woods and she’s just had the shock of her life re: old bad decisions coming back to haunt you. 

Elizabeth asks her about Meredith. Chessy is a few sheets to the wind and speaks frankly. It’s obviously what Elizabeth wants to hear, and she pushes for the custody angle. 

“I just can’t justify leaving Hallie in her care. Nick may do what he wishes, but if she’s going to take things out on a child…”

“Oh, hey, now. She’s not _vindictive_. Look.” Chessy props her head on a hand. “Meredith’s a genius sorority girl. She wants to win. But once she does, there’s no point wasting energy on being unnecessarily cruel, right? She’s not a monster.”

“That’s good to hear,” says Elizabeth dubiously. “But is she qualified to be a parent?”

“Sure. She’s young, but she’s not stupid. Hallie will come around. She’ll look up to her as a big sister one day. Could be worse.”

“Do you think? I got the impression Meredith had absolutely no interest in children whatsoever.” 

“But you’re a mom. You were probably always a mom. Taking care of small cousins, I’m guessing, babysitting the neighbor’s kids when you were a teenager, right?”

Elizabeth makes a face. 

“So, yes. Meredith never wanted kids. Her parents never wanted her either — she was a surprise — and she spent literally her entire childhood at boarding school. Like I mean she spent Christmas and summers there too. Maybe there was one Thanksgiving her parents took her to Tahoe with them.” 

“I met them in San Francisco. They seemed nice enough.”

Chessy snorts. “So can Republicans.” This makes Elizabeth laugh, a sound that explains why Nick Parker married a woman he’d only met 72 hours earlier. Elizabeth props her head up on her elbow and asks, “How do you know all this?”

“I know many things,” Chessy proclaims, and throws up in the fruit bowl. 

#

Chessy returns to the ranch alone after the wedding cruise. The family, and Martin, have flown back to the UK. Chessy is meant to fly there herself in a couple weeks. A “fortnight”, as Martin would say. She’s already feeling strange back on dry land. What is it about the ocean? It’s like that romaric fuzzy filter they used in old films. 

There’s someone sitting on the front porch. 

“Hey,” says Meredith, rising to her feet. A smile spreads across her face. She looks— she looks the same, really, but somehow different. More open. She’s in heels, of course, but she’s got on flowing trousers and a casual top. Less makeup, maybe. Possibly it’s the lack of a giant diamond ring on her finger. 

“Nick isn’t here.” Chessy pays the cab driver, and hauls her suitcase out of the trunk. It’s heavy: packed with duty-free chocolate. 

When Meredith stands, it’s like a ladder unfolding itself. “I know. My assistant has been keeping tabs on the Happy Couple. It’s fine. I’m claiming all his long distance calls as work expenses.” She towers over Chessy, grinning. 

“Uh, okay,” says Chessy. 

She’s unnerved by this smile. It’s a very different one than she’s used to seeing on Meredith Blake’s face. Were her smiles all this time around Nick Parker fake?

The smile disappears abruptly. 

Meredith’s gaze is fixed on Chessy’s left hand. “Wow. Congrats, I guess?”

Chessy shoves her hand into her pocket. “Uh, yeah. It was— unexpected.”

“ _I’ll_ _say_ ,” Meredith snarls. 

Chessy unlocks the door, going inside. Meredith follows her, launching into an incredulous lecture. There’s a sprinkler going crazy in the backyard. This place would literally fall apart without Chessy here. She goes to find the control panel on the outside wall. 

Meredith picks her way across the grass in spike heels, still spewing hatred. She’s really into it now. “But like, I guess you intellectual feminists never really _mean_ it when you say marriage is a trap. It’s all indie bookshop lectures and LGBT rallies until a man gets down on his knee in front of you, huh? Then all that big talk just flies out the window.”

A spin of the timer soothes the sprinklers. They stop their fourth of July show. The yard buzzes silent without the _chop-chop-chop-chop_ sound. 

“Honesty unbelievable. You ruin _my_ chances for marriage, then jump at your own. How’s that for sisterhood?” 

Chessy slams the hatch to the control panel. “Okay. Drop the act. You didn’t really want to marry Nick.”

“Yes, I _did_. He’s mature and we have fun together. We would’ve had a nice life.” Meredith looks up wistfully at the ranch. “I was looking forward to living here. I would’ve done a complete interior design overhaul. It was going to look amazing.”

_Of course._

“Marriage is more than a house.”

“Marriage isn’t a house. It’s a home.” Meredith’s gaze drops. “I wanted a home.”

“Hey. Come on. You can still have a home. Even if it isn’t this one.”

Meredith’s eyes are glossy. They’re standing close. So close that Chessy finally notices her eyes aren’t blue. They’re hazel around the edges. Not that that matters— But she’s not the cookie-cutter Barbie Chessy had imagined her to be in college. She’s not the glamorous socialite Nick Parker thought she was either. She’s ruthless and selfish, but that’s not all she is. Passionate. Brave. 

Chessy steps closer. 

Meredith says, “Get away from me, dyke.” 

Like being doused with ice water. Chessy sucks in deep breath. Two, three. 

She shoves Meredith in the pool. 

#

Nick Parker tells Chessy she can stay in the ranch as long as she wants. _Until I die, really,_ he jokes. She briefly considers getting an apartment back in Berkeley, but this is her home too. She’s lived here for ten years. Even though the family is only officially there on school holidays, Nick Parker flies back every month to take care of business things. He seems out of place in the house now. He’s shed the disheveled bachelor image. He’s a little more polished, a little more assured of himself. He tells Chessy he wants to promote her to business manager. She tells him she’ll think about it.

It’s not that she doesn’t love the vineyard. But she loves the water more. And Hallie doesn’t really need her anymore: she’s got a mother and a father _and_ a sister. Both girls write dutifully, by both post and email, but Chessy knows that can’t last forever. It’s the way of things. You can’t live in two places at once. 

She moves back to Berkeley a year later. Nick Parker helps her buy a tiny beach house ( _Consider this down payment an official apology for all the times I left the toilet seat up_ ) and she loves it fiercely and wholly. She sends the address to Elizabeth, who in turn suggests that the girls come to visit on Easter break. 

She’s got her captain‘s license now, and she’s out on the water every day: hired by rich folk, freelance corporations, and sometimes the government. It pays the bills. She likes it. E. J. Jimenez, who comes over every Thursday evening to play cards, tells her that she can get a good position on a commercial vessel or a cruise ship if she doesn’t mind being at sea for months at a time. She tells him she’ll consider it. Though she doesn’t know what’s keeping her on land. 

#

Chessy’s at the weekend farmer’s market, filling up her tote bag on smelly cheeses when a red convertible screeches up onto the curb. It scrapes against the meter. 

Meredith Blake leans over. “You don’t have to do it.”

“It’s limburger. It won’t kill me.”

“You don’t have to marry him,” Meredith insists. “That English guy. The bald servant.”

It takes her a moment to figure out what Meredith’s saying. Chessy broke the engagement with Martin exactly nine days after the drunken high of witnessing true love on the night seas. She’d sent the ring back via international courier, feeling sophisticated. Martin ordered her a “no hard feelings” fruit basket of pears, which truly confirmed that she’d made the right decision. 

All that feels a thousand years ago. But to Meredith, who has no contact with either Nick or Elizabeth, a future Mrs. Chessy Martin was a very possible reality. Chessy feels almost lightheaded with relief. What a bullet she’d dodged. 

“Don’t be a bitch.” 

Meredith leaps out of the car, not even bothering to turn it off — or open the door. There’s a dent on the left side. Chessy can’t stop staring at that dent. One time in college, a bird had crapped on the hood and Meredith skipped a midterm to take it into the dealership. She hired the student who lived in the dorm below to vacuum and wash it every morning. She loved that car more than herself. _It was the first thing I bought with my very own paycheck_ , she’d told Chessy once, when Chessy had been eyeing it judgmentally. _Not my parents’ bank account. Mine._

Meredith says, “You should marry _me_.”

People stream past them on the sidewalk. It’s high noon. 

“I don’t even care if you choose me. I choose you, Sarah Chester.” Meredith kneels right then and there on the dirty downtown sidewalk in her Calvin Klein minidress. It rips a little up the side. "So? Will you domestic partnership me?” She adds as an afterthought, “It’s legal in California now. And if anyone tries to stop us, we’ll sue.”

Chessy hauls Meredith to her feet. Meredith towers over her in Valentino heels. “That’s the sweetest thing you could say to me.” 

“‘Marry me’?”

“We,” says Chessy, and kisses her. 

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr link](https://sonatine.tumblr.com/post/612082887652737024/her-boss-is-asleep-because-its-10pm-and-the-man)


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